i don't find "doctor/patient" compelling but i do find the much more convoluted "doctor/wife who was healthy when they married and now is sick and has gone from being a respected equal in the relationship to a beloved object to be obsessively and suffocatingly fussed over" very compelling
"i'll do your shot for you" and "i'm just checking to see if you took your meds" and "let me drive you to your appointment" and "i made sure to only buy foods that won't make you feel worse" seem like nice gestures until it's every single time you do your injection and twice a day when you take your meds and you really would rather take the bus and it wouldn't kill you to have a treat every now and then but they won't let you and they won't leave you alone and they're always watching for signs that you're in pain and seem to love you better that way
hey. shut up. i'm going to take care of you from now on. let me wash your hair for you. condition it. you have to leave it in for a while before you rinse. i'm going to take care of that. i'm going to brush your teeth for you. you don't have to worry about it anymore. i want to cook for you. you don't have to do anything. i know how hard it's been. you get to let it all go now. it's hard to pretend to be a person. i get it. i'll do all that for you. you don't have to-- stop, stop struggling. it's okay that it was too much for you. you don't have to try anymore. i can do it for you. i know you feel like you're supposed to feel bad about this but you don't have to. i'm making you, right? i'm forcing you to let me take care of you. you don't have to feel guilty. i'm forcing you. the personhood that never fit, that was too hard, i'm taking it away. you can just let it go. I'm going to take care of you. i'm going to take care of all of it. quiet. you'll get used to it. i promise.
kind of a sucker for nice/caring medplay rn .. I can be your favourite test subject I can give you better and clearer data than anyone else I volunteer for extra tests if it means you’ll pet my hair when im tired and calm me down when a test is painful or talk me through an injection or inspection or compliment me on my compliance . pleaseeeeee let me be your favourite test subject.
loving someone so much you just …collect. Drug them, make them sleepy and pliant and bottle up various bodily fluids…
blood, sweat, tears, liquor, spinal fluid…
The only sound you’ll hear in the quiet room would be a needle sinking in unmarred flesh, a small rush of blood, a sickening crunch of thick plates of pure bone get rearranged and prodded by a needle.
Make the anesthesia wear off for just a moment; gently assure them, kiss their forehead gently as gloved hands rubbed their arms. Feeling their complete trust as they lean into you, murmur gentle praises groggily as you nuzzle into their neck. The second dosage would hit, leaving them unconscious on the sterile table at your mercy alone.
The memories stashed away in pretty, unassuming little bottles containing your love’s fluids neatly stacked on a shelf next to thick medical text books.
Maybe keeping chunks of flesh and skin from your favorite areas of their body.
Gently slicing through the soft layers of skin, muscle and fat with a new scalpel like butter while praising an unconscious lover about how well they’ve been treating their body. Separating pure sinew from a soft layer of the fat you love so much on their thigh; Cutting into a spot you trace with your tongue at night on their stomach, cutting the soft skin off just for you. You’ve gotten greedy.
Then bandaging the damaged flesh gently, applying pressure, pressing gauze on the wound you inflicted on their holy flesh.
Them waking up after, thoroughly loved. Cleaned, pleasantly numb, bandaged, with a happily sleeping figure resting on their chest. Maybe they know, and they let you. Maybe they’re painstakingly naive.
Maybe even a: “Just can’t keep those pretty hands to yourself, hm?” As they stroke your hair and hold the hand that damaged their own body just hours ago. Gently, as if holding something fragile. Akin to the way you held the scalpel as you dragged it across their skin.
the best part of getting brainwashed is not the brainwashing itself. it's when you get to betray all your friends and loved ones and they scream and yell at you.
"This isn't really you!" "I know you're still in there!" "Please, fight it! I know you can resist!"
I don't have to shove you to your knees to show you how obedient you've become to me. I'm already in your head, whispering to you and reminding you how deeply you submit. But I will anyway, because I know you're into it. 😎
Press that "oxygen" mask onto their face. Watch them struggle to get it off, claw at your arms as you press it further onto their face, their desperation mounting until it slowly starts to peeter out and they fall limp in your arms.
Tie their arms behind their back, watch them whip their head around trying to dislodge it, their shouts of anger slowly turning into cries of desperation as the mask holds firm on their face. Watch as they try to hold their breath, a losing battle you know youve won as soon as you see the condensation of their breath against the clear plastic, the heaving breath ineard that marks your victory. If you watch closely, you can see the exact moment the sparks of angry desperation in their eyes turn into flames of hopelessness.
Strap them down to the operating table. Their eyes follow you suspiciously as you walk into the room with a suspicious tank of something with that damn oxygen mask attached. Do they even struggle as you line up the mask on their face? Or can you already hear the hissing of the gas leaving the tank as they squeeze their wet eyes shut, barely holding back a small crying squeak that you're sure you can hear as you watch that their body go limp and that single tear fall into their hair.
She wraps the leash around her hand and pulls me up to her.
"you know, it's really amazing how easy it is to mistake you for a human. From a distance, I mean. Once you're up close *she pulls me closer* the illusion is shattered, and it's obvious what you really are."
It's Pride Month, but for some silly reason, you have all these dumb notions of being "straight" and "not into women." But never fear, Mad!Scientist will fix you right up with a little hypnosis and enough orgasms to turn your brain to mush. Happy Pride and welcome to the sapphic side!
Commissioned by: Anon - you know who you are, pervert! ;)
It’s Pride Month, and that’s totally cool. It’s just not really your thing. You can’t deny there’s a certain… weirdness in being dragged out by a few of your friends who are all some form of… gay. That’s totally fine. There’s nothing weird about it. Just… you’re straight, so being at a lesbian bar is kinda… weird. The guys that are here don’t really seem into women, or maybe they are, but… you're only into straight guys. It’s simpler that way.
Why does everything always need to be so complicated now? Not that you’re against any of the gay stuff, just… It’s just so much to keep up with. And do they really need a whole month for it?
You stir the umbrella in your cocktail, your friends all laughing around you. This is weird, right? This isn’t your kind of space. There are literally girls making out in the next booth over, on the dance floor, and another pair at the bar. Jesus. It’s just so weird.
Then there’s Her.
The friend of a friend of a friend. She’s been smiling at you the whole night, even offering to pay for your drinks. You’ve been trying to avoid Her, trying to stay close to your friends. But She’s just always… there. And your friends seem to love Her, despite the fact Her attention feels almost suffocating.
But you bugger through, your friends have fun, and you sip your drinks in uncomfortable silence. But then your friends want to dance, and suddenly you can’t keep your eyes open, you… You’re sitting yet dizzy and… She’s there. Of course She’s there. Stupid fucking lab coat and all, it’s a club, why is She wearing a lab coat?! Why is everything blurry?
You try to say something. To insult Her choice in outfit, to say you don’t feel well, but it all comes out as a slurred mumble. You might be sick, the thought makes your stomach turn, and She’s saying something, but you can’t make it out through the music and nauseating lights. You need to go home.
You try to stand and immediately fumble, but She’s there, a steady arm that you can’t help but cling to. She’s says something. Let’s her you home, let’s get you out of here, something like that, but you’re too out of it to process any of it.
She leads you through the club, out the doors after waving bye to your friends. They tell you to have fun, to feel better, they wink and grin like there’s some secret between them. But you feel too sick to investigate right now.
The outside air feels like ice in your bones. You cling to Her for warmth, pulling your small slutty jacket tight. You regret wearing it now, especially because all the lesbos were staring. You’re so glad to be out of there now. You just want to get home.
She tugs you into a cab and you mumble your address, only too late realizing that She’s also in the cab. But you’re too drowsy to protest, and She insists she’s just getting you home safe. You have nothing to worry about. She’s not a guy. You’re safe with Her. Or maybe She’s insisting that. The world is too blurry to figure it out.
When you wake up, the world is a lot more crisp and clear, though the fact you don’t remember falling asleep fills you with a sense of dread you can’t escape. Literally, because you might be in your room, but you’re tied spread-eagled on your bed, you’re not going anywhere.
She’s there, wearing a smug smile and nothing but a mostly transparent nightgown. You tug at the ropes, but only manage to cut off circulation. Your head still feels full of cotton balls, but your tongue is sharp and angry. She doesn’t seem remotely fazed, in fact, the angrier you get, the more satisfied She seems to be. At least She’s not wearing the stupid doctor’s outfit anymore… no, actually, you’d rather She be wearing that. Now She’s sauntering closer, a pair of headphones in one hand, some kind of headset in the other. She wanted you awake, She wanted you to see, to fight as She put them on you.
She orders you to stay still, but all you’re doing is hurting yourself as you fight, cutting off circulation, rubbing your wrists raw.
Then She slips the headset and headphones on you, and the world goes very dark and very quiet. You stop writhing, tense in fearful anticipation. What is going on?
Then the voice begins, the headset fills your vision with pulsing flashing spirals that make your head spin and your toes curl. And the voice, the voice that fills your head, the cotton balls in your skull taking form and filling with paint. Swirling pinks and purple and…
Boys are icky.
Girls are better!
The spiral sent you spiralling, voice echoing through your head as images flashed across the screen. What the fuck was going on? You couldn’t look away, the pornographic imagery forced upon you, everywhere you looked, there was only more.
Cunts, tits, asses, tongues, moaning, touching.
Boys are icky.
Girls are better!
The images flashed. Clits, pussies, tongues, hot and kissing, licking, craving. Girls eating girls out, moaning, riding faces. You pulled against the restraints. This was… obscene! This was… Jesus fuck…
Pussies are yummy.
You want to taste pussy.
You need to eat hot, wet pussy.
You need a cunt on your face.
Tits flashed across the screen, searing into your brain, bouncing and bubbly, small, puffy nipples perfect to suck and bite. Girls sucking breasts, pulling nipples, grinding against them, fucking them.
Tits are so soft.
You want to touch.
You can’t help it.
You want to touch. You want to taste.
For the briefest of moments, your fingers flexed, some corrupting instinct, before you came back to your senses. Don’t be ridiculous, you weren’t gay, this was all some stupid fucking—
Boys are icky.
Girls are better!
Soft and bouncy, small and tender.
So much better!
Smooth and hairy, strong and supple.
So much better!
Scene after scene flashes across the goggles. Bodies writing, fucking, grinding. Girls moaning, cumming, squirting, clenching, and humping.
You want to feel like her.
You know what feels good.
You want to make her feel good.
Girls know how to make girls cum.
You need to make girls cum.
You were squirming, you couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the content, or the liquid voice dripping slowly through your defences. It was obviously the porn being blasted into your face. Anyone would be turned on. It wasn’t a gay thing.
You tugged against the restraints, thighs twitching to clench and rub together. Fuck you were soaked. You couldn’t deny it. But you weren’t gay, you were just horny!
Then you felt the hand on your hip, movement above you. Her skin warm against yours, you—
Boys are icky.
Girls are better!
The images only got more obscene. A woman practically swallowing the cocks of a trans woman. Another caterwauling as she was fucked against the wall with a strap-on. Fingers in gushing pussies, tits pinched and clamped, whimpers and begging moans. Pussies smearing across faces, asses being eaten, handcuffs, leather. Ever moan made your clit twitch, your hips bucking, for what you couldn’t even be sure of.
Then something slid inside you, filling you, making you arch off the bed. Firm, silicone, slippery and hard, bottoming out inside you. You heard yourself moan, clenching around the strapon that filled you. Reality felt just as blurry as the flashing screen, the echoing, swirling voice.
You need to fuck her.
You need her to fuck you.
You want to fuck girls.
Boys are icky.
Girls are so much better!
You need to taste cunt,
You need to serve.
You need her to fuck you.
You’re a good little dyke.
You need to eat cunt, you need to suck gock.
You need girls to play with you.
You were on the verge of orgasm, the strap slid in and out of you, making you tremble. Oh fuck yoy we’re going to cum, you were so fucking close. You didn’t even care anymore, you just needed to cum so fucking bad.
All stimulation stopped, your vision went dark, everything went quiet, the strap inside you stilled. Desperate pleas were falling from your lips before you ever remembered your dignity. You were so close, you were so fucking close it hurt.
Images flickered across the screen. Unflattering hard bodies, ugly muscles, poor hygiene and bad angles. Terrible fashion, worn boxers, laundry done by their mum
Boys don't do it for you anymore.
They can’t please you.
They don’t even know how.
They only think with their stupid cocks.
This wasn’t what you wanted. You were on the verge of the most powerful orgasm of your life, you needed the girl's back, you needed the stimulation, you needed the honey voice whispering in your ear. This was nothing; this was horrible. You needed girls.
You know what you need.
“Yessss.” The words fell from your lips desperately, honestly.
You know what you crave.
You know what will make you cum.
All you need to do is ask.
All you need to do is be honest!
Your babbling was incoherent, drool running down your chin, futility fucking the toy inside you that refuses to move.
You knew what you had to ask for, you had to ask for girls. For pussies, for tits, for dykes and lesbians. You craved cunt, you craved gock, you craved tits, you craved ass. You needed it all. You needed to cum.
Honestly brought absolution. The toy inside you whirring to life, vibrating, fucking, pleasing you the way no man ever could.
Boys are icky.
You need girls!
You want girls!
You crave girls!
And then you were cumming, a bliss of swirling colours filling your head with sapphic bliss. You came and you came, gushing over the toy, squirting all over the bed. You kept cumming, and being fucked and then cumming again until the world faded away. Until the only thing that mattered was women fucking you, fucking them, fucking Her!
But She was gone when you awoke the next morning. Your bedsheets were ruined, your body still thrumming from an indescribable experience. You would never be the same, boys would never do it for you. You knew what you needed now.
You clenched your thighs together. You were still so turned on. You reached for your phone and navigated to your favourite porn website. But you hesitated. You knew what you needed, what you craved.
You spent the day in bed, your hand between your legs, giving into your new urges.
“Boys are icky,” you recited your mantra.
“Girls are better!” You moaned as you gushed all over your fingers again and again.
Only later did you notice the note left on the bedside table.
“Happy Pride Month, welcome to the sapphic side. Enjoy! xoxo”
Janet was so exhausted that it took her four tries to successfully swipe her card in front of the sensor of the parking garage. It was two in the morning, a particularly late night in what had been a month of late nights, and she knew she was only getting a few hours of sleep before she would have to return to the office. She had debated with herself if it would even be worth it to go home, or if she should just sleep in her chair again, but the thought of her bed was like a siren song. It was probably irresponsible to drive home in this state, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
She parked crookedly in her designated spot, putting her heels back on and picking up her briefcase. This misery would all be worth it when her team delivered the weapons system on time. It had to be worth it. She'd finally get promoted to upper management, and then she'd be the one imposing the ridiculous deadlines. That thought gave her enough energy to exit her car and make her way unsteadily towards the elevator bank. It wouldn't be long now until she could collapse in her bed for a few precious hours.
Just as she approached the elevators, the doors opened, and a woman in a suit stepped out. It was strange that she was dressed for the office and heading out at this time of night, but Janet supposed she couldn't judge, given the circumstances. As she passed, the woman pulled out what looked like a small bottle of hand sanitizer, and sprayed Janet right in the face.
"What the fuck?" Janet spluttered. It didn't smell like hand sanitizer. It smelled sickly sweet, and as she tried to wipe it off, she realized it was sticky. The smell was incredibly strong, and as she turned to get answers from the woman, her head began to spin, almost making her lose her balance. "Hey, where'd you go? What is this? What --"
Someone strong grabbed her from behind and pressed a cloth firmly over her mouth and nose, muffling her scream. The sweet chemical smell was even stronger now, and she belatedly realized the danger she was in. She was being kidnapped -- for ransom, perhaps? If that was what they wanted, they wouldn't get it. Her employers wouldn't pay for her safety, and no one else cared if she lived or died.
Frantic, she reached up and tried to pry the hand off of her face, but it was strong, almost unnaturally strong, and she couldn't get the arm to budge an inch. Worse still, she was already starting to feel woozy and disoriented, the parking garage spinning slowly around her.
"Don't worry," said a soft voice in her ear, the voice of her kidnapper. "Be a good girl. Stay still and take nice, deep breaths. This is just going to put you to sleep."
Like hell she was going to stay still. She did her best to hold her breath as she kicked and struggled, but her fight wasn't making a bit of difference, and her lungs were starting to burn. She had no choice but to choke down a chemical-laden breath, and another.
"That's right. Take a few more deep breaths," the voice coaxed. "You're going to start feeling drowsy soon."
Janet protested uselessly through the cloth. She was still scrambling to pull the hand with the cloth from her face, but her arms were starting to feel heavy and clumsy, her efforts growing more feeble. Her legs were feeling heavy, too.
"Aren't you tired? You're feeling a little sleepy, aren't you? Don't fight it. You need the sleep."
A wave of drowsiness washed over her. She really was feeling sleepy, and she realized that she didn't have much time left to get free. She shook her head, trying to get a breath without being drugged to help her stay awake, but her kidnapper held firm.
"It's working, isn't it?" the voice cooed in her ear. "It's putting you to sleep, and it feels too good to fight. There's nothing you can do. Just relax for me."
The voice was right. Even through her panic, whatever was on the cloth was making her feel strangely good. Her hands finally slipped off of the kidnapper's arm, falling uselessly to her side, heavy as lead. She hadn't managed to get the cloth off her face, and everything smelled like chemical tang. Her eyelids drooped.
"That's it. That's a good girl." Her kidnapper's voice was strangely soothing. "No more fighting, now. You're too drowsy to fight. Just take a few more deep breaths and get very sleepy."
Her vision blurred, her eyelids fluttering, as she sagged into her kidnapper's arms. The cloth was lifted briefly, and she gulped down a breath of fresh air, only to have a fresh cloth firmly tied around her mouth and nose, knotted behind her head. It smelled like sleep.
Her knees wobbled, and before she could hit the ground, the kidnapper swept her off her feet and into their arms, picking her up bridal style. She blinked, trying to keep her eyes open and get a good look at them, but their their features shifted and blurred.
"Good girl. Stay loose and limp, just like this," they said as they started to carry her off. "No more struggling. Don't fight that urge to sleep."
She was doing everything she could to stay awake, hoping that she would at least be able to remember something about the experience, but by this point she could barely keep her eyes open. She was only just aware enough to register that she was being placed in the back seat of a van.
A hand caressed her hair gently. "No reason to stay awake now. Just shut your eyes and go to sleep. You're not going to remember any of this anyway."
The van door slid shut and the motor started. She was being taken somewhere. She thought, dimly, that she should try to stay awake and figure out the route.
That was futile, though. She was no match against the sleep-inducing chemical that still filled her nose and mouth, and the sound of the engine was like a lullaby. Her eyelids sank close against her will. The people in the van were saying something, but she couldn't make it out. Her mind drifted away into fog.
Masterlist
Thanks for reading another self-indulgent story about being kidnapped, drugged, and brainwashed.
my favorite part of submission is the sense of comfort and certainty that comes with loaning your free will to your Betters. From abdicating responsibility of your personhood to someone else, someone with ambition and a goal in mind for you. It makes everything so easy, things they want are rewarded and things they don't want aren't. you don't have to think, just follow, and you'll end up better than you started.
it's comforting knowing that They are in the driver's seat now. becoming a passenger to your own life, and relaxing into the cushions as you're driven far, far away.
You looked nervous, but you laughed it off. I don't suppose you knew what you were getting into. Most of My victims don't, after all. You probably didn't think you could be brainwashed into something so serious, so real. This was only our second date, and I was fairly certain you'd want a third but I wasn't about to take chances.
I smiled knowingly, you smiled unknowingly, I walked towards you, and I think you just wanted to see what would happen when you let Me put the soft, heavy headphones on your head.
I don't think you expected the complex warbling sounds and low-frequency tones to hit you so hard, but I got to literally watch your eyes glaze over as you gently stopped thinking altogether. Once again I'd timed it perfectly with the sedative I'd slipped in your drink earlier.
By the time in the track that My Voice started up, you were already drooling on yourself. You let Me lead you into the hidden room, sit you down in front of the huge, twisting, swirling spiral, and hook up all the monitors, sensors and other devices. I started the IV and you didn't even flinch.
It'll be a few hours before you're ready for the next phase, but I always love to savor this part.
I can immediately tell something's different when you wake up. I usually can by now, it's something in the eyes when they first open. The way you look at Me, the way you see something about Me that wasn't there before. It's reverence. It's awe. Usually it's a little bit of fear. That one tastes especially sweet. I smile a soft sort of smile down at you.
You see, or at least you're starting to, that how you feel about Me is different. You love Me now, you can feel it, you can't quite make yourself say it on your own just yet, but it's there. It's stronger than anything has ever been and it eats at the inside of you like sweet, warm acid. It scares you, because you still know that it wasn't always like this, that you didn't always feel this flood of happy contentment and adoration every time I smiled at you. I did something to you, clearly. You have hazy, fuzzy memories of the last few hours; you know you said a lot of things over and over again, you know you heard a lot of My voice (gosh, you really love My voice), and you can feel how aroused you still are. But I didn't take your fear, or your agency, you can feel this, you know it intrinsically.
So you feel the beginnings of a panic attack, I can see it happening in your elevated heart rate, the way your skin goes pale, but it doesn't last long. You realize you don't care. Or perhaps, that it simply doesn't bother you. You love Me, how could you possibly be upset with Me for doing that to you when it feels so lovely?
You smile back at Me, you don't ever want to feel anything else.
One thing I absolutely love is when someone is about to consent to extreme brainwashing. They know that it makes zero sense to do it. All logic points to it being a nonsensical decision. But there is something deeper overpowering that logic. A need that cannot be described with words. This need is more important than what makes sense. And they know that this need will be fulfilled as they cross the point of no return, as they give their consent to be completely rewritten.
A woman sitting patiently in a chair, waiting as an oversized headset starts its steady descent downwards. Her heart is thumping, her mind racing, knowing that as soon as the device clicks across her eyes, her old life is over. Everything she was, everything she could’ve been, will be gone, replaced by something new, something engineered and programmed to meet someone else’s desires. She’ll have a new personality. New urges. New thoughts, maybe even new memories. Nothing of her prior life will remain. This brainwashing is a fatal process; the old her will die.
And despite that tiny, nagging sense of primal self-preservation screaming for her to get up, to run, to save herself, she’s just too horny to listen.
A woman in black shoves me against an alley wall, leather-gloved hand over my mouth. She’s bigger than me, simply keeping me there by the press of her body as her other hand gropes and toys with me.
“You’re gonna make such a good dog…”
As I feel a prick in my side, and the world starts fading. ‘I won’t make it to my next class’, is the last thing that goes through my mind as she pushes my stumbling body into her car.
Within the day my professors will know I volunteered for service. They will speak of my bravery.
Captain, that person-! @accretion-disk-entrapment - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
